Elena: The Untold Story of a Girl With Wings
by Skwaklulz
Summary: Elena is just a typical ninth grade girl, until some mysterious characters begin to appear in her life. Now, with wings sprouting from her back, where will she turn? And who can she trust?
1. Chapter 1

The World As I Knew It:

I stand, poised on my toes, and listen to the sounds of the waves crashing against my beloved pier. This is the final time, for months to come, that I will have the opportunity to visit my adorable, memory-filled home-away-from-home. This is the only place where I have ever felt comfortable, safe, and happy. Anywhere else, I experience pain, loss, emptiness, and all of that idiotic drama that seems to swamp me back at home.

"ELENA! GET YOUR BUTT OVER HERE AND HELP US ORDER OUR DANG ICE CREAM!" shriek my best friends, Jourdan and Helena. Jourdan steps out of the ice cream parlor and glares at me, but I return her glower with a cheeky grin, and immediately start to sprint down the pier towards the beach. Jourdan laughs and drags Helena away from the frozen obsession of hers. They run after me, but of course they will never catch me. I can run faster than anyone I have ever met, so I slow to a leisurely walk and allow them to reach me. I expect to be tackled to the ground by the two of them, so I fall down without putting up much of a fight (note the 'much of').

It ends up with me standing over them, my foot resting on Helena's stomach. Her green eyes glare up at me, startling in contrast to her perpetually pale face, as she rises and proceeds to shake the sand out of her dark, long hair. Jourdan however, sits there laughing her pretty little arse off. Her black eyes glance up at Helena, and she is rolling on the ground again, her thick, black hair also littered with sand. Her cocoa brown skin causes quite a contrast between the pale earth and her dark form.

"Well, this little side trip was entertaining…" Jourdan states with a giggle. We all proceed to take the long walk back to my beach house, right on the shore of the tiny island near Sarasota, Florida. Once we arrive at the house, my mother proceeds to freak out on us that we need to leave in only twelve hours, and OHMIGAWD we are not going to be prepared. She orders us up the stairs to pack, her playful blue and green eyes surprisingly stern and her hair pulled back in a tight bun that she only wears when she has a panic attack.

We grumble complaints, but continue to trudge up the stairs. Before I know it, we are back in the car, driving back to that hated city, Cincinnati, Ohio.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

After a very long, tiring drive and the drop off of my friends at their homes, my dad pulls our vehicle into the cavernous garage connected to our house. I trudge into the building, and collapse on my bed. I do not intend to go into a meticulously detailed description of my room, so this is all I intend to say: my bed frame is splatter-painted neon green and pink, while my walls are black with purple splotches littering their surface. The shelves of my book case are filled with both soccer and Taekwondo trophies (I happen to be a black belt), and various academic medals and certificates. If that portrayal was not sufficient in your view, you can just shut up and deal with it. I fall into a deep sleep almost before my head hits the pillow.

**~~~~~~~~~~skipify the sleeping stuff and one day~~~~~~~~~~**

Monday morning I awaken to the scent of bacon. I immediately leap from my slumber and charge down the stairs and burst into my kitchen with a vaguely Charlie's Angels-ish maneuver. "Give me bacon! NOWWW!" I shriek at the top of my lungs. My dad chuckles and in turn throws a piece of that heavenly substance at me. I leap through the air and catch it, stuffing the greasy wonder into my mouth.

"You do realize you have school in an hour, correct?" inquires my father, his bright brown eyes turning quizzical.

"Urgh, yes I know that I have that horrendous torture to endure today. At least I have soccer after school," I add in a much more jovial tone. After this, I proceed to skip up the steps to my room and dress in my hideously irritating school uniform: this revolting plaid skirt and a white shirt that fits in the most deplorable manner.

I brush my teeth promptly, and suddenly the doorbell sounds. Confusion encompasses me as I dart to the door. _Helena and Sophie? _I wonder within the confines of my mind. I proceed to open the door, and within five minutes of that action, find myself tied to a chair. Yes, I did say that they tied me to a chair. I suppose that I should introduce Sophie, due to the fact that this is the first time that you have met her, so here I go: Sophie is my extremely tall, 'excitable' friend with brown eyes and hair, and absolutely _obsessed _with physical appearances (a.k.a. makeup and fashion).

"Hmmm…" Sophie muses aloud, "What do you think we should do to her today? Maybe some blue eyeliner and mascara for the game today, you know, to show school spirit! Or, we could make her look absolutely amazing with a more natural look! Or…"

I stop paying any attention to this occurrence, even as they smear gunk all over my face. Instead, I ponder the male students who attend my school, or a much more discreet way of saying that I daydreamed about the hot guys at my school. Sigh, so many choices… such as Nathan, Dylan, George, Daniel, Spencer, Shane, and, the most drool-worthy of them all, Stewart. Dang, that boy had an effing EIGHT PACK! What kind of freshman has a darn EIGHT PACK? Eh, what do I care.

By this point, my friends/torturers have finished their tormenting me. I glance in the mirror and see an unfamiliar face staring back at me. It is always this way; I can never seem to recognize the girl in the reflection. She definitely does not look a thing like me, with her dirty blonde hair, her dark, gloomy grey eyes that seem to have some kind of fire within them, and her massive, thick lips that I despise so much. It always appears to me that a stranger positions itself between me and my own reflection. Sure, today I do not look so deplorable, with a natural, tan skin tone and eyes that seem to be slightly less melancholic, fringed with thick, black lashes. But I know that girl is surely not me.

A car horn shakes me from my contemplation, and my close friends untie me so we can proceed to the next torment in my day, school.


End file.
